


When the World Stops

by The_Bentley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Annoying Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Bored Crowley (Good Omens), Boredom, Cake, Comfort, Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Couch Cuddles, Drinking, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hand Feeding, Hospitals, Humor, Illnesses, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Protests, Public Blow Jobs, Restaurants, Sad, World Travel, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:41:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24068299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: It's 2020 and everything has come to a grinding halt thanks to a novel coronavirus that is sickening the human population across the Earth.  That doesn't mean Aziraphale and Crowley shut down with the world.  They find ways to pass the time from heartbreaking to humorous.Please note the rating change.  I drove Chapter 4 straight to Smutsville.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 48





	1. Quarantine Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuck in the bookshop, Crowley starts to drive Aziraphale crazy with his boredom.

_March 2020_

Crowley flopped bonelessly on the couch beside the bookshop’s till. “I’m soooo bored.”

“Well, there’s not much we can do about the humans shutting everything down thanks to this newfangled virus,” Aziraphale replied from his comfy chair by the desk while turning a page. “People are dying. You can’t expect them not to try to slow it down. Anyway, you’re in a building full of books. Go find something to read if you’re that bored.”

“I don’t read books.” Crowley pulled off his sunglasses, resting an arm over his eyes.

“You do. I’ve seen you. You just don’t wish to admit it. Also, I remember that collection you had back in . . . in . . .” Aziraphale thought for a moment. “Well, I don’t recall exactly, but I think it was while you were temporarily stationed in Spain during the fourteenth century. You had a bookshelf or two full of them.”

“That was pornography. And don’t remind me of the fourteenth century. This is turning out to be just as obnoxiously dull.”

“Seriously? Pornography? Crowley, you barely understand how reproduction works. Why were you collecting that?”

“It was illegal,” he replied a bit sheepishly. “Every little bit helps when your job involved chaos.”

Aziraphale gave him an annoyed look before going back to his reading. Another page was turned.

Crowley sat up. “Can I preen your wings?”

“You did that yesterday.”

Crowley got up to pace the bookshop. “Oh yeah. That’s right. I was bored then, too. Of course you have it made. You’re introverted. You have your reading material. And now you have no customers, which works out nicely since you don’t even like to sell books.”

“I sell books,” retorted the offended angel.

“Only when you have no choice. I know the tricks you play to keep customers out of your shop. You just refuse to admit to yourself this place is really only storage for your insanely large collection.” He paused by a section off limits to customers, pulling an ancient scroll from the shelf containing nothing but an assortment of other ancient scrolls. “Did you pilfer these from Alexandria before it burned?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now put it back before you get dirt on it. Papyrus that old is very sensitive.”

“I rest my case.” Crowley carefully slid it back on its shelf. He continued rummaging through more of the bookshop’s treasures, coming across a medal resting around the neck of a marble bust. “Where’d you get this?”

“It’s a commendation for thwarting you.”

“Yeah, because you did such a great job at that.”

“It’s not like you did your job unless you absolutely had to.” A realization hit Aziraphale. “Oh, no . . . you didn’t, did you?”

“Do what?”

“Tempt people into hoarding toilet roll because you thought it would be amusing or something?”

Crowley pinched his nose with his fingers. “I jokingly told two people at a pub that they needed to stock up because supplies were limited. I thought it would be funny if they looked foolish buying the store out of stock the next day. I didn’t think the entire English-speaking world would decide that they needed to hoard the stuff.”

“Crowley, really?”

“It’s not my fault! The humans panicked all on their own!” he replied before quietly adding. “I should be gluing that to the pavements instead of coins.”

Aziraphale carefully marked his place in his book with a bookmark before getting up. Searching the bookshop, he found Crowley perusing the shelf of books on arts and crafts muttering something along the lines of “what is the point of origami anyway?” under his breath. Grabbing his hand, he led the demon to the door.

“Come along.”

“What for?” asked Crowley, following behind him.

“We’re going to your flat where you have a kitchen full of food. We’re going to pack some of that food in a hamper. Then we’re going to drive out to some nice sunny spot outside of this city to eat it,” replied Aziraphale. “Because if we don’t do something, you’re going to drive me mad. Besides, you still owe me a picnic from 1964. Or was it 1967?”

“I don’t remember,” Crowley replied as they headed out the door to the Bentley. "Just that that's when you gave me the holy water. The stuff came in handy."

“Either way, anything is better than sitting around the bookshop putting up with your nervous energy.”

“If you insist, angel.”

“Oh, I do. I very much do.”

With that, the two drove off to pass some much-needed time outside the city limits. 


	2. Compassion and Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale does what he can during the pandemic while Crowley, worried he's going to burn himself out, tries to convince him to take a break for his own sanity.
> 
> Written for my friend who is a medical professional and Good Omens fan.
> 
> CW: This does involve death, hospitals and sickness

Aziraphale sat unseen in the quiet ICU room with its silenced machines and sheet-covered former patient. His lips moved as he blessed the released soul, speeding it on to Heaven. He didn’t need to be here; no missions came anymore from a Heaven that had exiled him. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t do his job even if he didn’t have a side.

He didn’t hear the other being come in the room to slide into the chair beside him. A hand lightly touched his shoulder. He looked up at his new companion, tears in his sky blue eyes.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” said Crowley softly. 

“I’m still an angel,” he replied.

“I’m well aware of that. And we go through this every single plague. You dive right in to bless the sick and dying only to end up burning yourself out.”

“ _Somebody_ has to,” retorted the angel. “I don’t see you doing it.”

Crowley pulled down the sunglasses he wore, showing eyes full of compassion. “I do, angel. I just always had to hide it from Head Office and now I find I hate hospitals. But that doesn’t mean I’m not just because I’m not here like you are. I don’t know how far a blessing from a demon gets someone, but at least it’s a 'bon voyage' before their soul’s send-off.”

The glasses were pushed back up, covering up his eyes once again. Aziraphale nodded in acknowledgement, taking the demon’s hand in his own and squeezing in gratitude.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“She was only sixty-four. Had a couple of daughters and a son. A bunch of grandchildren,” said Aziraphale about the lifeless human lying in the bed awaiting someone to take her to morgue. “They couldn’t even be here for fear of her spreading the virus to them. At least a nurse held her hand as she passed. That nurse had other duties. There are so many . . .”

“You were here, too, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale nodded. “I can sense it. I’ve attended twelve today in just this hospital, all dead from this virus. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’m not able to be there for all of them. I bless them all, though, even if I can’t personally be there.”

“I know, angel. But you need to come home if even for a little while.”

“How many more are going to get it? There aren’t enough masks and . . . and . . . well, whatever they call their other protective gear, for medical workers.” The words tumbled from Aziraphale’s mouth in a frustrated tone. “How many of _them_ are going to end up sick? And what’s going to happen with this hospital is overloaded with cases? More sick than means to treat them?”

“Deaths, angel. What inevitably happens in plagues. You always told me it was part of the ineffable Plan,” said Crowley sadly.

“I’m not so sure anymore. Being on my own has made me rethink my views.”

“Welcome to my world; now c’mon,” replied Crowley who tried to get Aziraphale to his feet. “Let’s go. You can bless the lost souls just as well from your bookshop.”

“I think I’d rather stay here.” Aziraphale had stood up, but only because personnel had entered to take care of the body and start disinfecting the room.

They weren’t noticed because they didn’t want to be, but it was best to move on. What could be done was done. The angel stopped a moment in the busy hallway, reaching out to see if someone else needed his celestial presence. 

Crowley sighed. Human death always had made Aziraphale uncomfortable, but he had had faith in the Plan in the past, which told him this was how it was supposed to go. Now, since Aziraphale's faith had been shaken by the events of the almost Apocalypse, the death he was currently surrounded by hit him hard. Crowley held out his arms to Aziraphale.

“C’mere. You look like you need a little comfort yourself.”

Aziraphale hesitated, then settled into Crowley’s arms allowing the demon to cradle him against his chest. The tears came, first softly then escalating to outright sobs as Crowley stroked his hair and held him tight.

“Let’s go home. I’ll make you some cocoa and you can wrap up in a blanket on the couch with me for the night.” Crowley shifted himself so he had Aziraphale in a one-armed hug which made it easier to lead him away. “Self-care, Aziraphale. It’s a thing and even the overworked medical personnel here do it.”

“I’m not human. I’m an angel.”

“No. You’re an angel who’s spent six thousand years with humanity and has developed human emotions,” replied Crowley as they walked away. “We don’t wear our bodies like suits like everyone else Above and Below. We integrated. Form defines function and we’ve become partially human whether we intended that or not.”

“What does that mean, Crowley?”

“It means you give a damn what happens to them . . . and so do I.”

The hospital faded to be replaced with the street where the Bentley was parked. Crowley carefully helped Aziraphale into the passenger seat, got in himself then drove back to the bookshop. 

He got Aziraphale seated on the couch, tenderly wrapping him in the fluffiest of off-white blankets before heading to the kitchenette to make two cups of cocoa – one in an angel-wing mug, the other in a black one with a red interior. He set them, piping hot, on the coffee table, pushing aside a stack of books to make room for them. Wiggling under the blanket with Aziraphale, he leaned up against him, encouraging him to cuddle. The angel leaned his head on Crowley’s shoulder. 

Reaching out, Crowley grabbed the angel-wing mug to hand to him. “Here you go. Drink up.”

Time passed them by as they stayed there like that soaking up the needed physical contact. Aziraphale’s breathing became slow and deep after a while. It was rare he slept, but it did happen occasionally during periods of great stress. Crowley took the empty mug from him before it fell from his hands and shattered on the wooden floor. 

“Go ahead and lie down. It’s ok. You earned this one.” Crowley helped the angel into a more comfortable position. 

Arranging the blanket so it adequately covered the sleeping angel, the demon leaned over to kiss this precious being who had half-consciously shifted enough to give him a sleepy kiss back. Crowley tenderly pushed Aziraphale’s curls out of his face before settling himself in the chair at the desk on the other side of the coffee table. He would spend the night watching over Aziraphale, making sure he didn’t have any bad dreams. 

“Good night, angel,” he said. “We’ll all get through this . . . you, I and humanity. I promise.”

He made himself comfortable, turning his attention to his mobile to pass the time until Aziraphale needed him again.


	3. Protest in the Time of Coronavirus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale doesn't join protests because that would be breaking lockdown rules. Crowley worries about his demonic influences getting the upper hand. But they come up with ways to help the cause.

Time ticked by. Crowley knew this because he could hear the measured clicks of the bookshop’s grandfather clock in the silence. Aziraphale had gone into the backroom to make tea while the demon stared out the window at the deserted landscape. A car or two went by, a far cry from the normally busy streets of pre-lockdown.

“Do you want anything, my dear?” Aziraphale’s voice carried out over the ticking. 

“Just bring me a bottle of scotch, thanks.”

“The whole bottle?”

“It’s not like I can’t wish up more when we need it.”

Aziraphale carried it out with a tumbler, placing both on the coffee table in the office while his tea steeped. He approached the window, sliding his arms around Crowley so they stood with Aziraphale’s chest against Crowley’s back. Crowley placed his hands on top of Aziraphale’s and there they stayed in that comforting position silently for many minutes.

“Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked.

“Just bored, but nothing to be done about it.”

“You could go join the protests. Those are important and you did have a wonderful time at the one in Bristol.” Aziraphale laid his chin gently on Crowley’s shoulder tipping his head so it touched Crowley’s. 

Crowley sighed contently at the soft touch. “There we got to take down that statue. It was enough to satisfy that little part of me that wants to be out there doing demonic work.”

“While being a good deed in a civil disobedience sort of way. That statue was of a slaver. What happened to it?”

“We rolled it through town to the harbour and dumped it in. I have some great footage on my mobile if you want to see.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Maybe later. I need to check my tea. You know how delicate Earl Grey can be. Oversteep it and you lose that nice essence of bergamot. Come sit down.”

Crowley got himself situated with a tumbler of scotch while listening to Aziraphale’s homey noises coming from the kitchenette in the backroom. He found himself smiling as he heard the angel humming over the sounds of a spoon clinking on a teacup and the tap of that teacup being placed on a saucer. Aziraphale reappeared, carefully carrying his tea in one hand and a plate with a large enough piece of cake to share in the other. He sat next to Crowley on the couch, nestling in close.

“I really can’t keep going to the protests,” commented Crowley.

“Why not? You’re a demon. Going out there and breaking lockdown rules is perfectly acceptable for you. It’s not like you’re going to make anyone ill or bring home a disease.” Aziraphale took the first bite of cake, a nice chocolate sponge one by the looks of it.

Crowley breathed in the wonderful aroma of the Earl Grey, formulating his answer before giving it. “Because while anti-racism is something I very much support, these protests are a prickly area. They’re turning violent so easily and do you know what it’s like to be around that when part of your very essence _itches_ to do mischief?”

“I can’t say that I do.” Aziraphale turned to offer him a bite, putting the fork up to the demon’s lips. Crowley accepted his offering, but the closeness proximity made using the fork awkward. Aziraphale wiped crumbs off Crowley’s nose that landed there after a bit of manoeuvring to get the bite in his mouth.

He waited until he had swallowed to speak again. “The urge to just pick up a rock and throw it is great, angel. I can’t do that. Not with police so touchy thanks to the statue-guarding fascist idiots who decided to cause trouble and other issues. My actions could get people hurt if I was to give in to that demonic influence.” Crowley stretched over to grab his tumbler of scotch off the coffee table. “But anyway, some of my previous influence has spread and in a positive manner.”

“Oh? How so?” Aziraphale delicately ate a second bite.

Crowley smirked. “You know that statue of the Duke of Wellington in up in Glasgow?” 

Aziraphale fed him another piece, this time _sans_ fork. Crowley took the cake then licked a smear of frosting off Aziraphale’s index finger.

“Yes,” the angel replied, reaching for his tea. “I believe you convinced some leftist students to put a traffic cone on its head back in the eighties.” He leaned back against his demon, amused at Crowley’s minor abuse of a statue put up in honour of the first Duke of Wellington, a general known for defeating Napoleon, supporting slavery and sacking cities in India before becoming a Tory Prime Minister. The cone became part of the statue’s history and now it was uncommon to see it without one on its head. 

“Well, when I popped out to get us some groceries the other day, I went to make sure that statue still had its cone and some counter-protestor hadn’t taken it or something.”

“Oh?”

“It’s now wearing a nice black cone with the BLM logo on it. Someone decided it needed an upgrade. I hope it stays there and nobody takes it down. It’s a great piece of protesting – the statue of someone who supported slavery wearing a Black Lives Matter traffic cone.”

Aziraphale gave a soft laugh. “Well, that’s one way of doing it. But we’re going to have to find ways to help as well. I cannot ethically break lockdown rules and you cannot risk giving into demonic impulses.”

“I’m sure I can come up with some groups we can donate to.” Crowley pulled out his mobile to start researching. “Black Lives Matter, defense funds for those who end up in court, groups that provide bail money. We don’t need to physically stand with them to show our support.”

“Oh, Crowley, that’s brilliant.” Aziraphale leaned over to give him an admiring smooch as only he could.

Together angel and demon spent the afternoon bent over Crowley’s mobile researching groups and injecting some much-needed funding into the fight against racism. This was their world, too, and the humanity the two shared the planet with would become such a bright shining species once it completely embraced equality. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't protest? Want to help? Black Lives Matter has a carrd with many ways to get involved, including ways to fight racism in Canada, the UK and Australia. Remember, this is not an issue that goes away when the protesters pack up and go home. Help is always needed.
> 
> [Black Lives Matter](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/)


	4. Landmarks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boredom sets in as the protests end and Aziraphale looks to occupy himself with baking. Tired of sourdough, Crowley suggests they take the time to go see international landmarks without the crush of crowds around. But when there's nobody watching, it's amazing what shenanigans two man-shaped beings can get up to in an empty restaurant in Paris. 
> 
> Please note the rating change. I drove this chapter straight to Smutsville.

Life dragged on and Crowley convinced Aziraphale to cut down on his hospital visits for his own sake, but the angel still blessed souls, although thankfully there were less these days. The streets returned to their empty state as protests died down and eventually stopped altogether. Right now, it was anyone’s guess whether any good would come of this or if racism the world over would just continue in a system that refused to change. The boredom returned.

Even Aziraphale, who took to lockdown like a fish to water, was starting to show some strain. He was once again up in the bookshop’s flat, baking cakes like mad until Crowley began to dread the smells that wafted from the oven. Currently he had returned from a run to the market for more milk and eggs to find his partner back in the kitchen whipping up another batch of sourdough on the little space left on the kitchen counters. 

“Aziraphale, we’re out of room,” he said in an exasperated tone. The counter not currently used as workspace was covered in various baked goods that spilled over on to the kitchen table in their excess. Two currently resided on top of the fridge. “This has become an obsession and it needs to stop.”

“But I have so many more recipes to go through!”

“Are you going to start keeping them in a bubble dimension or something?”

Aziraphale looked guilty. “The thought _had_ crossed my mind.”

“Angel! C’mon. Put that down. We’re heading out for the day.” Crowley grabbed him by the hand. “Let’s go see the sights of the world since they aren’t going to be crowded.”

“But the dough will go bad and we'll be breaking lockdown rules . . .”

“We have six loaves of sourdough already and we'll be social distancing quite nicely with nobody around,” Crowley replied. “Ok, what shall we see first? You have always talked about the Golden Gate Bridge. Not often we get over to the States. Want to start there?”

“Oh, all right.” Aziraphale got his coat. 

Nodding to Crowley, they transported out, appearing high above San Francisco in the early morning hours. A cool wind blew around them as birds sang. The landscape should have been tinged with the glorious colours of the rising sun, but they were to be disappointed. The whole point of arriving on top of one of the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge was to get an amazing view of city and bay. They were getting a view, but it was of the thick rolling fog coming in from the bay to envelop the city. Crowley stared out into it with a shrug.

“I expected a better view,” said Aziraphale looking down on the fog-covered city. “On top of that, it’s a bit damp and cold here.”

“We’ve seen worse,” Crowley commented with a sigh. This was not going as planned. “Remember the Great Smog of London?”

“Yes. Simply awful all those health issues and deaths. But I don’t want to relive that,” replied Aziraphale. “Anyway, where to next?” 

Not limited by time zones or extended travel, they visited the Taj Mahal, marveling at its beauty as they took in the quietness surrounding the completely empty mausoleum. It gleamed white in the setting sun as they gazed upon it. Their footsteps echoed inside of it as they walked upon a floor laid with octagonal stars. Crowley passed a hand over walls inlaid with precious stones in floral patterns that dominated the design of the interior. Aziraphale looked upon the two cenotaphs sitting side-by-side, Mumtaz Mahal’s was in the center with Shah Jahan’s off to one side. The angel wondered if he even intended to be buried in this mausoleum with his beloved wife for his cenotaph threw off the intricate balance built into the entire structure. 

“It’s beautiful,” said Crowley.

“It’s meant to represent the Islamic version of Paradise,” replied Aziraphale.

“Heaven’s boring. Shall we?”

They headed off again, a slight popping noise left in their wake. Crossing the globe again, they visited various and sundry landmarks, most of which lay empty as countries had slowly stopped during the pandemic. Aziraphale wanted to see Christ the Redeemer in Rio de Janeiro. Crowley chose the Hellfire Caves in Buckinghamshire. They walked several sections of the Great Wall of China, covering several dynasties. Machu Pichu nestled in the Andes. Sydney Opera House. Places they had been when they were active and full of life before society moved on and time reduced them to ruins.

“I remember the entertainment that went on,” commented Crowley as they stared up at the ruins of the Colosseum in Rome. “Never had the stomach for it, but sometimes you had to do business here.”

“Bread and circuses.” Aziraphale walked on, entering the walkway that took people to their seats. He looked down upon the visible _hypogeum_ that used to be hidden by the wooden arena floor. He remembered the carnage that went on here from gladiatorial fights to the occasionally execution of a martyr. “It’s better this kind of entertainment fell by the wayside. The sheer numbers of people and animals killed.”

“Well, lunch? Or dinner, depending on where we land?” Crowley was never comfortable with the subject of death, demon though he was. 

“Of course. I suggest Paris.”

With a snap of Crowley’s fingers, they were gone. 

“It’s not the same,” stated Aziraphale firmly as they sat alone in Le Jules Verne one hundred twenty-five metres above Paris on the newly enclosed first floor of the Eiffel Tower, Paris spread out below them in all its beauty.

Crowley had conjured up their favourite dishes, lit a candle on the table they were using and did a little messing with his iPhone so it would play appropriate romantic music to compliment the beautiful view of Paris outside the windows. Aziraphale appreciated it all, but somehow the lack of attentive wait staff and the ambience provided by the presence of other diners dampened the entire experience.

“Oh? Why?” Crowley slid his hand over to take Aziraphale’s. “Are you worrying about the people again? I know you’re an angel and that’s what you’ve done for the last six thousand twenty-something years, but this trip was supposed to be a break from that.” And to get him to stop constantly baking, even just for a short time, but Crowley kept that tidbit to himself.

“No, it’s just not the same without that restaurant atmosphere.” Aziraphale turned his own hand so he could link fingers with Crowley, the demon’s fingernails now lightly tickling his palm.

“Then let’s make it interesting . . .” Crowley grinned that mischievous smile of his before slithering under the table.

“Crowley, what are you doing? Should you be . . . oh, my . . . Crowley!” Aziraphale went through an entire range of emotions within a few seconds as he felt Crowley’s hands touch his thighs before traveling up further towards the zipper and button on his trousers. 

He looked down to see the demon between his legs teasing his half-erect cock out of his pants and through his now-open trousers. Crowley’s thin hand encircled it, quickly bringing it to full erection as Aziraphale tried to pay attention to his meal rather the antics of his partner, but it was impossible to enjoy one’s food when one’s mind was occupied with what was going on elsewhere. 

“In public?” he managed to gasp out.

“Nobody’s here and there’s no threat of anyone interrupting. Not exactly ‘public’ public, angel.” 

Crowley concentrated on getting one reluctant angel completely in the mood, mind and body, rubbing at first with his hand, then abandoning that to lick tantalizingly along the tip of Aziraphale’s cock. He drew part of it into his mouth, using his long tongue to lick along the rest while glancing up at the angel.

Aziraphale had dropped his fork by this time and was clutching the sides of the table with white-knuckled hands. His face relaxed as he let out a moan, but then his eyes traveled to the window beside him and the look of worry returned. The whole city stretched below him and he imagined those in the buildings around them could peer from their flats into the Eiffel Tower to see what shenanigans they were up to. Stiffening enough for Crowley to feel it, he noticed his partner change tactics.

Below the table, Crowley started to rub along the shaft again while he had the head in his mouth, hoping to distract Aziraphale with the dual action. It appeared to work for the angel relaxed his stance and took his eyes off the window, but Crowley was convinced Aziraphale’s hands were going to stay glued to the table. He felt him thrust minutely in response to Crowley’s seduction.

Removing his hand after a few minutes, Crowley moved lower to give Aziraphale’s balls some attention, lightly caressing them for a moment or two before finally plunging his entire cock into his mouth and vigorously sucking. Banishing his gag reflex, the demon drew it in deeper until his throat bulged with the tip of the angel’s erection. Aziraphale gasped as Crowley continued to carefully move in and out, feeling the strange flutter of Crowley’s throat against sensitive parts. He could feel himself physically losing the battle to keep from coming even though he wanted to hold out. Throwing his head back, he tried his best to fight it one last time and failed.

“Oh, Crowley! I can’t stop it!”

Crowley’s thumb flipped up to tell him that was perfectly all right. Loudly moaning, Aziraphale let everything go, feeling the rush of release flood through him. His hands unclenched from the table and he uncharacteristically slouched in the chair. Crowley’s head emerged from under the table as he pulled himself up into his seat with a satisfied smile. He calmly went back to eating his roasted duck while Aziraphale put himself back together as his lamb grew cold. 

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

“I can’t believe you let me.”

Rewarming his entrée, Aziraphale tried to resume lunch while stealing lust-filled glances at his partner. The lamb tasted much better after the mid-lunch interruption but he found he really didn’t want it. What he wanted was more of Crowley. He stabbed a piece of meat with his silverware in his frustration while Crowley watched slyly from behind his dark glasses, a forkful of wilted greens poised between plate and mouth.

“Should I bother conjuring dessert or do you just want me?”

“Both and I want to head home. Now.”

Returning everything the way it was when they got there, Crowley took them back to the bookshop where Aziraphale all but dragged Crowley up the spiral staircase to the bedroom in the flat where he proceeded to strip Crowley of his clothing. Laying him down on the bed, Aziraphale positioned Crowley’s arms up over his head and tied them to the headboard.

“Oh, so _that’s_ the kind of mood you’re in.” Crowley teasingly tested the ropes.

Bite-sized squares of cake that manifested from the collection in the kitchen appeared on a plate in Aziraphale’s hands. Carefully he laid them out in a pattern across Crowley’s stomach and chest, settling on the demon’s hips before he began to eat them. Aziraphale would trace the area around the piece before picking it up to pop in his mouth. Crowley whimpered with desire every time he felt Aziraphale’s fingers trace along his stomach. The kisses he peppered there were almost Crowley’s undoing.

“Stay still, my dear. You don’t want to get dessert all over the bed now, do you?”

So it went – Aziraphale would touch, kiss and lick in the spaces left bare, occasionally plucking another small square of cake off Crowley to eat, only to return to lick spilled frosting off his skin. The demon did his best not to squirm as he moaned his way through kissing sessions and panted when Aziraphale’s warm wet tongue traveled over his sensitive skin, circling one nipple completely. 

“You have some frosting here.” 

Crowley felt the angel’s tongue swipe over his nipple, almost causing him to jump. His panting increased, making him thankful Aziraphale had consumed the pieces he put on his diaphragm. Meanwhile his nipple was sensuously teased, licked and bitten until Crowley cried out in lust and Aziraphale had to place a steadying hand on his breastbone. 

“Angel . . .”

“Hush now, Crowley. Just a few more to go.” 

Plump fingers walked up his chest, grabbing one of the last pieces left on him. Sensuously biting into it, Aziraphale offered him the rest. Playfully the angel smeared frosting across his lips as he set the cake in Crowley’s mouth. He laughed to see the chocolate coat his partner’s lips like lipstick applied by a toddler.

“Oh. I seem to have made a mess. Let me get that.”

Crowley was licked clean, the swipes of Aziraphale's tongue tingling along his sensitive bottom lip. Begging, he opened his mouth asking for the most intimate of kisses and Aziraphale obliged. He could taste the frosting on the angel’s tongue as he wound his own snake-like tongue around Aziraphale’s before exploring his mouth further.

One piece was left. Aziraphale left Crowley wanting more to go fetch it, this time not bothering with his hands. Crouching down, he kissed his way to it, scraping his teeth across the lower part of Crowley’s chest in his quest to get that one last square. He ate it happily, satisfied more by the moans and squirms of his partner than the cake itself. Wishing away any crumbs, he traveled at leisure back up to Crowley’s mouth, kissing hot skin and scratching fingernails along erogenous zones on his sides.

“Ready?”

The demon nodded.

Shifting to get in the right alignment, Aziraphale settled himself above Crowley’s cock, his entrance at the very tip of it. Wiggling his arse slightly, he felt Crowley thrust upwards and leaned forward, taking his arse off important areas.

“No, I don’t think so. If I want to tease, I will tease.”

He again put himself right over Crowley’s cock. “Stay still, my dear.” He felt the body beneath him tremble with the effort of not thrusting upwards. Slowly he bore down on Crowley’s cock, allowing it to enter his body bit by bit. Occasionally he would stop, holding everything there very still as he pinched Crowley’s nipples or caressed him lovingly.

“You are so beautiful, my dear. And you’re doing so well.”

He seated himself completely on Crowley, leaning forward to put his hands on Crowley’s chest for support. Rocking his hips, he felt the demon start to move in rhythm with him, knowing how much he loved the paradox of this position. Usually when he was inside Aziraphale’s body, he was the one in charge if they were playing like this. Not this time and the few occasions they used it, it drove Crowley wild. Aziraphale felt him thrust a little too roughly and leaned forward to pull off. Crowley had nowhere to go with his hands secured above his head. He let out the distinctive moan of someone interrupted in the middle of a grand time. Aziraphale smiled down at him.

“If you want to continue, then you let me set the pace. That is how it is going to go this time or you do not get to come. Understand?”

“Understand.” The reply was filled with mock annoyance but Aziraphale knew better than to take it seriously. Crowley was very good about letting him know if he was no longer having fun. 

Coupled like that after all the teasing from lunch through dessert, Crowley was not going to last. Aziraphale slowed down, allowing him some time to just feel the passion before it all ended.

Crowley definitely was feeling it as he kept rocking at Aziraphale’s set pace. Moaning out his desire, he pulled occasionally at his bonds, the tightness of them shooting through his wrists as mild but pleasurable pain. He lifted his head, begging for a kiss.

“Please, angel?”

Aziraphale’s smiling face with its twinkling sky blue eyes bent down to kiss him chastely at first then tease Crowley’s mouth open with his tongue to explore again. Crowley’s groans echoed between their kisses as feelings built to the point of no return. He yanked his head back as he came, the sensations of orgasm releasing him physically and mentally, the demon going from lust-filled excitement to quiet relaxation as the passion ebbed from him, replaced by soft feelings. He stared up at Aziraphale with half-closed eyes.

“There you go, my wonderful serpent.” Aziraphale murmured softly as he untied his partner.

Lowering himself on to his forearms, he nuzzled into Crowley’s chest for a moment before covering his jawline with kisses of praise. Eventually he sat up and took the demon’s wrists in his hands. A quick touch over each removed the rope marks. 

“How’s that?”

“Good.” Crowley pulled him down into the bed again, his arms encircling Aziraphale and holding him against his chest. “You belong right here.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Shall we sleep away the rest of lockdown?” Crowley asked as he petted his angel’s hair.

“Right now I wouldn’t mind that too much.”

“Too bad we can’t. Your cakes’ll go mouldy.”

“We can wake up every so often to eat a couple. They’ll keep with a miracle or two.” The angel gave Crowley a final kiss before settling in on his chest, blinking sleepily.

Crowley sighed contently, squeezing Aziraphale tight in jest before allowing his arms to relax in a loving embrace perfect for sleeping. “Sounds good, angel. Next time, I get to eat cake off of you.”

They decided instead to sleep until the next morning. Maybe the world’s outcome would look better in a few hours. Besides, if they slept until all this passed, they would be missing out on many creative opportunities to eat all those baked goods.

**Author's Note:**

> Do what you must to stay safe. Aziraphale and Crowley aren't going to catch anything because they're not human and are fictional. They can go anywhere and do anything they wish without endangering themselves or others. We humans do not have such capabilities. Please keep social distancing and taking other precautions.


End file.
